I was a Teenage Voldemort
by thethirdman
Summary: An angry, resentful Tom Riddle seeks respect and acceptance. What results marks the beginning of his transformation into Voldemort.
1. Default Chapter

"Son, don't let those boys rattle your cage," Professor Dippet said.

Tom stared at his feet. With his arms at his side he balled and opened his fists over and over as if he was grasping at something in slow motion. He breathed through his nose almost snorting with each breath. Looking up only with his eyes he said, "I can't help it. People bug me."

"People bug me too, but you don't see me casting curses every which way."

Tom's fists closed tight. He carried his anger in his jaw. Dippet went on, "I made you head boy because I know all the potential you've got. You've got a lot of potential. I don't want to see you wasting it. You could lose your position if you keep this up."

"I know I got potential," Tom shouted, "I'm going to be somebody! But not like you man. Not like those squares in the Ministry. I'm going to do things my way."

"Tom, you'll never be anything if you keep up your behavior. Perhaps you should go back to your dormitory and cool down."

Tom spun around and stormed out of Dippet's office. He slammed the door and made all the noise he could stomping down the stairs. He came to an abrupt stop at the bottom, sighed and rolled his eyes. Myrtle was waiting for him. Hugging her books she ran to him, "Tommy is everything ok?"

"I'm fine," he began to walk away hoping she wouldn't follow even though she always did.

"What did he want, Tommy?"

"Just to give me a big lecture about my potential. You know his usual lines."

"What lines are those, Tommy?"

Tom rounded on her, "Look, just beat it ok? I ain't got time for your questions."

"But Tommy-"

"And don't call me Tommy either!"

He jammed his hands into his pockets and began to walk away, but the sound of Myrtle's quiet sobs pulled him back. He hated it when she did that. He couldn't ignore the way she tried to choke back her sobs and how each one that escaped sound like little hiccups. It tore at his heart to hear it, and he knew that was why she did it. Without turning around he said, "Hey...listen, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell like that."

"Really?" she wiped her eyes.

"I mean it," he searched for something else to say, "You want me to...walk you back to your dormitory?"

"Sure," she giggle as she hurried to catch up with him. Myrtle linked her arm around his; another thing he hated. He didn't have the heart to shrug her off though. He just sulked beside her with his head down.

* * *

Outside the Ravenclaw dormitory, Tom rubbed the back of his left hand over his cheek. "At least she doesn't wear lipstick," he said only for himself to hear.

"What's that now, Riddle?" called a voice from behind.

Tom looked over his shoulder to see four of his housemates perched on the stairs. A tall, skinny, sickly seventh-year leaned against the wall. His shoulder rested on a painting, but that bothered him far less than it bothered the man in the painting. Sitting on the railing with his legs dangling in the air was a mass of fifth-year flab, or muscle if the boy's claims were to be believed. The railing creaked as it strained under his weight. In the tense silence, each snore-like breath the boy took seemed to echo. A weasel-looking boy crouched on the steps. He scowled, trying to look as tough as he could, but his pimples betrayed him. As light reflected off his greasy complexion, he looked like nothing more than a scowling geek. The leader smirked at Tom. He was the only attractive one in the bunch. He had those broad shoulders, that strong jaw line, and the perfectly molded hair. He folded his arms across his chest, "So you got a thing for ugly nerds?"

"She's not my girl, Gordy."

"Oh, it don't look that way."

Tom searched for some way to assert his authority over them, "You just run with those losers so you look cool by comparison."

Gordy chuckled in condescending amusement. "Hear that," he threw his voice over his shoulder, "Riddle fancies himself clever. That must be the real reason he's hanging around the Ravenclaw common room."

Tom wanted nothing more than to reach for his wand. He wanted to blast these creeps straight to the infirmary. But he couldn't, not with the threat of losing head boy looming over his head. He adjusted to look Gordy in the eye and stood with confidence. "I assume you must have something more pressing to attend to."

"Whoa, Riddle, cut the official speak man. You know we're pals. We can talk like pals right?"

Tom glared at him. Gordy began to descend the stairs, and his gang followed. Tom racked his brain for a solution, but he couldn't think fast enough. Instead he grabbed his wand and drew it towards Gordy. Before he could speak a syllable of any spell, Gordy's forearm smashed against his chest. Tom instinctively squinted and tumbled backwards. His wand flew from his hand as his back smacked the floor. Streams of light burst across his eyelids as his head collided with the floor. He felt water swell in his eyes. He couldn't open his eyes, or if they were open he couldn't see. Tom wasn't sure which.

He felt someone, he thought it was Gordy, grab him by the lapels of his robe and haul him off the floor. He heard him say, "Get up. Come on, you limp-wristed freak."

As sudden as the forearm to the chest, Tom felt Gordy let go. He heard the boys swear and their shoes against the stone floors as they hurried away. Two warm hands took him by the shoulders and guided him to the stairs. "Go on and sit down, Tom."

Tom's vision began to return and he could make out the blurry figure of Professor Dumbledore standing over him. "Professor-"

"No need for explanations. I saw enough to know the events."

"I was just-"

"Trying to defend yourself. Always an honorable course of action."

"Am I in trouble?"

"No. Unless you'd like to be?"

Tom shook his head. He ran his fingers over the spot where his head hit the stone.

"Do you feel well?"

"I'm fine. How come I'm not in trouble?"

"Four against one is hardly fair. I'm willing to assume the odds, which were not in your favor, drove you to take drastic measures. Is that not why you drew your wand on them?"

"Sure, I guess."

"If you'd had drawn your wand earlier, it would have evened out the odds. You're bright Tom-"

Tom leaned back and looked up at him, "This isn't going to be another lecture about my potential, is it?"

"No, of course not." By merely extending his empty hand, Dumbledore summoned Tom's wand from across the hall. It glided to his open palm. "I'm sure you're quite aware of your talents and skills."

"Then what's this lecture for?"

"It's not a lecture, Tom. It's nothing more than an observation. Perhaps a bit of praise."

Dumbledore held Tom's wand out to him. Tom took it and watched the old wizard ascend the stairs. He stuffed the wand into his pocket and sauntered down the hall. He paused, anger and self-loathing swelled in him again. He lifted his foot and with a yell of hate drove it into a statue. It shattered on the floor. Tom pressed his heel on top of one of the pieces. Slowly he ground it into dust.

* * *

"And that's it? Dumbledore just up and left?"

"Yeah," Tom whispered to Max. They hid in the back of the library pretending to browse the stacks.

"What about Gordy and them?"

"Don't know. I guess nothing happened to them."

"What," Max said louder than he should have, "That's a load of-"

Tom shushed him. "Like I said, I don't know. Maybe he did talk to them or something. Dumbledore does things weird."

"Don't I know it...man, it's like he's got eyes everywhere."

"I know it," Tom pulled a random book from the shelf and opened it to a random page. Scanning it he said, "He creeps me out."

"Who," Max suddenly looked puzzled.

Tom closed the book and slapped Max across the arm with it. "Dumbledore, genius. At least try to keep up with the conversation."

Max smiled, "You're a jerk, Tom."

"I know. It's my...vocation," Tom grinned as he savored the sound of the last word.

"Vocation? You sound like you're applying for a Ministry job."

"I'm preparing...to become royalty. Man, I going to be dubbed Grand Marquise," Tom paused as he thought of a clever name, "Moldedshorts."

Max covered his mouth and held his laughter in. "Man, where do you get this stuff?"

"I'm just too smart; too smart and handsome."

* * *

After dinner, Tom hurried back to his dormitory and dropped to his knees in front of his footlocker. Glancing back at the door with an almost playful grin, Tom took the key from his pocket. Unlocking and lifting the lid, Tom took out a black bag. Shooting another look at the door, he slid a piece of parchment, a journal, a quill and some ink from the footlocker into his bag. He slammed the lid down, locked it up and crammed the key into his pocket. He tucked the bag under his arm and checked to make sure he dropped nothing.

He ran through the common room and barged through a group of first years as they were entering. He darted down a flight of stairs, taking the last 5 steps in one leap. Stumbling slightly at the bottom, Tom checked to make sure he hadn't drawn any attention. Certain he was alone and unheard, he ducked under the stairs. Just enough light fell under the stairs to let him see. He nestled himself into the corner where the slant of the stairs butted up against the wall and took out his quill, ink and parchment. He began to write: "Hey pop, I bet you never thought you'd hear from me."

He set down his quill and cleared the ink away with his wand. Taking the quill up again he wrote: "Dear dad"

Again he cleared the parchment. He scratched his head and put the quill to the paper again.

"Tom Riddle, I'm very nervous about writing to you. I don't know how to say what I want to say. My name is Tom Riddle too. I'm named after my father. I'm in my seventh year of school and I'm head boy. I'm pretty popular. Not saying everyone's my friend, but some people just don't know what they're missing, right? There's so many thing I want to tell you that I could write pages. So, maybe I should close before I go overboard. Can't wait to hear back from you, Tom."

Tom folded the letter and put it in his bag. He opened his journal and ran a hand over the smooth, blank page.

* * *

Tom felt no need to sneak around Hogwarts during the night. He left the owlry and proceeded back to his dormitory doing nothing to hide his presence. A crash coming from another hallway gave him a start. He charged in the direction of the sound. Rounding a corner, he found the broad backside of a bent over student directly in front of him. The student had knocked over a suit of armor and was trying to gather it up. Tom spoke firmly, "Hagrid."

Hagrid whirled around to face Tom. "Oh...hello, Tom," Hagrid said, "I was just...picking up..."

"You only need to explain why you're out of your dormitory."

"Well, I...I've got a pet downstairs. I was just taking him a bit of food."

"What kind of pet is this?"

"Just a spider. He's harmless."

Tom glanced at Hagrid's bandaged fingers. He was about to ask how harmless the spider really was, but the sound of footsteps forced him to make a split second decision. Tom pointed to the direction he had come from, "Take those stairs to the owlry. I'll come up for you."

Hagrid bolted up the stairs, and Tom purposely fumbled with the armor. He let the pieces clank and fall as he tried to lift it. Filch snuck up behind him with the grace of a large, snorting animal. "Riddle! What do you think you're doing? Vandalizing school property..."

Tom continued to fumble with the armor, "Oh, man, good thing you came. I don't know who they were. I yelled at them, but they took off."

"They?"

"Yeah. Uh, two of them. Both guys...they went running that way," Tom gestured with his head, "I couldn't tell what house they belonged to."

"That way?"

"Yeah, you want me to go with you?" Tom asked as he let a piece of armor slip from his arms and crash on the floor.

"No," Filch commanded, "You do what you're doing."

Once Filch was out of sight, Tom let the armor fall to the floor. Taking out his wand, he levitated it into place. Tucking his wand into his back pocket, he went back to the owlry to collect Hagrid.


	2. Chapter 2

Before Tom entered the Great Hall, he could see Hagrid watching for him from the Gryffindor table. Tom thought about skipping breakfast, but Hagrid had already spotted him. Tom entered anyway and tried not to make eye contact. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and tried to motion to Hagrid that he should just stay put. Hagrid ignored him and called, "Hey, Tom!"  
  
Tom glanced back at him and said, "Yes?"  
  
"I just wanted to say thanks for-"  
  
"Forget about it."  
  
"No, I couldn't. You didn't-"  
  
"I know I didn't, but I did. It's over. Let's forget it happened."  
  
"But-"  
  
"Listen, just because I give you a hand doesn't mean I want to be your pal."  
  
By that point the whole hall had turned their attentions to Tom and Hagrid. Tom looked at his table to see Gordy sneering at him. The rest of the gang seemed about to split their sides in laughter. Tom was almost whispering when he said coldly, "Just go back to your table and pretend I never talked to you."  
  
Hagrid stood where he was and stared at Tom. His lips started to move a little, but he made no sound. Tom tried to seem indifferent as he took an isolated, seat at the Slytherin table. He tried to block out all sound, but the snickering from Gordy and his friends seemed to become louder the harder he tried. He refused to let his embarrassment get the better of him, and he began to eat as nonchalantly as possible.  
  
"What was that about?" Max asked. He'd moved down from the other end of the table.  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"You friends with him?"  
  
"No. And if I was, it wouldn't be any of your concern."  
  
Max recoiled, "Sorry, man. I was just-I mean are you in good with him. No offense, but he's kind of weird, you know?"  
  
"Yeah, I know. I don't need you to point it out to me," Tom tossed his fork down on the table, "I just gave him a hand with a problem that's all."  
  
Tom left the Great Hall without making eye contact with anyone, but he could still hear the snickers of his housemates. He clenched his fists as his footsteps grew heavier. "What do they care?" he whispered to himself, "It's my duty as head boy, right? Help students, right? So what do they care?"  
His pace increased as he continued to whisper angrily to himself. He made an abrupt stop in the middle of a hallway. He swore as let his fist fly into the wall. Moments after his fist connected with the stones, he sank to his knees and cradled his hand. Hot pain shot from the knuckles, up the arm, through the shoulder and into his brain. Tom bit his lip and cursed at himself for being stupid enough to punch a stone wall.  
  
A hand rested on his shoulder, and he heard Dumbledore behind him. "Stand up. I'll take you to the hospital wing."  
  
Tom stared up at Dumbledore with both awe and a tinge of fear. Snapping back to reality, Tom stumbled to his feet. He walked beside Dumbledore. "Let me see your hand."  
  
Tom held his right hand out. Without touching him, Dumbledore looked over it and said, "That was quite a punch. Why did you punch the wall, Tom?"  
  
Tom shrugged. Dumbledore said casually, "There must have been some catalyst. What would drive a level-head, smart student like you, to punch a wall?"  
  
"Just mad."  
  
"Surely you were more than just mad."  
  
Tom shrugged again. Dumbledore asked, "What's making you so angry that you want to do this?"  
  
"Just...things...stuff."  
  
"Things and stuff are what drive you to want to curse your classmates?"  
  
"People bug me sometimes."  
  
"I understand. It happens to the best of us. Still, it worries me how you handle your anger."  
  
"Why should it worry you? I'd reckon Dippet's more worried."  
  
"I do not doubt that Professor Dippet is worried. Still, I hate to see such a bright student falter."  
  
"Ain't a guy got a right to be angry sometimes?"  
  
"Of course he does. It's the way in which he deals with it that important. It does a person no good to react with violence."  
  
Tom scoffed, "And let people walk all over you? No thank you, Professor."  
  
"You're smarter than that Tom. You don't need fists and curses and hate to get by. No, I think you'd fare better than most anyone even without your wand. I just wish you'd see it in yourself. Now, here we are. Would you like me to write you a note for your next class?"  
  
"No, I don't think she'll mind," Tom said. He stared as Dumbledore walked away unsure of how much of Dumbledore's concern was real.


End file.
